satisfied with seeing; eyes that would devour their object, and yet
childlike and fearless; and that is a mouth that will not be soon
satisfied with love; it has a curious likeness to Scott's own, which has
always appeared to us his sweetest, most mobile, and speaking feature.

There she is, looking straight at us as she did at him,--fearless, and
full of love, passionate, wild, wilful, fancy's child. One cannot look
at it without thinking of Wordsworth's lines on poor Hartley
Coleridge:--

"O blessed vision, happy child!
Thou art so exquisitely wild,
I thought of thee with many fears,--
Of what might be thy lot in future years.
I thought of times when Pain might be thy guest,
Lord of thy house and hospitality;
And Grief, uneasy lover! ne'er at rest
But when she sat within the touch of thee.
O too industrious folly!
O vain and causeless melancholy!
Nature will either end thee quite,
Or, lengthening out thy season of delight,
Preserve for thee, by individual right,
A young lamb's heart among the full-grown flock."

And we can imagine Scott, when holding his warm, plump little playfellow
in his arms, repeating that stately friend's lines:--

"Loving she is, and tractable, though wild;
And Innocence hath privilege in her,